


The High Way to Hell (FUTCT) Drabbles

by acareeroutofrobbingbanks



Series: The High Way to Hell [4]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, Vampires, Werewolves, fae, myth verse, the high way to hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acareeroutofrobbingbanks/pseuds/acareeroutofrobbingbanks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little ficlets that don't fit into the overall plot of season two of The High Way to Hell</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Girls Love Wolves and Boys

"So you know how I forgot your birthday this year?"

Joe glanced up at Pete. To his knowledge, they hadn't been having a conversation before.

"Has there been a year when you remembered my birthday?" Joe asked in response. Pete ignored him.

"Well, happy late birthday!" Pete cheered, and opened a closet door to reveal-

Marie.

She stood there in silence, rocking on the balls of her feet and biting back a grin. She stared at him, her face brimming with anticipation, and it took just a little too long for Joe to realize he was supposed to be excited.

"Hi, babe!" he brightened up and smiled as wide as he could force himself to. Pete looked confused and concerned in the background, but said nothing.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” Marie asked. Joe forced another smile in her direction.

“Everything’s fine,” he said. Pete flinched just slightly at the lie. “Could you just give me a moment with Pete?” Marie nodded, shrugged, and carried her suitcase into Joe’s room. Joe slowly turned his gaze on Pete.

“What’s wrong?” Pete asked, his tone somewhere between nervous and affronted.

“You. Invited. Marie.” Joe paused after every word, his teeth gritted.

“What’s wrong with that?” Pete asked. He backed up slightly into the couch, visibly trying to distance himself from Joe. Joe’s lips pulled back into a snarl.

“Check the calendar,” Joe demanded in a whisper. Pete didn’t bother to check the calendar that he had put up in the kitchen of their shitty apartment. Instead, his eyes popped wide open as realization dawned on him.

“You haven’t told her?” he gasped. “It’s the full moon tomorrow and you haven’t told her?!” Joe’s fingers curled in until his knuckles were white.

“No,” his voice was taut to the point of snapping.

“You’ve been dating for over a year!” Pete cried.

“We’re long distance!” Joe yelled. “It never came up!”

“How does turning into a mythical canine once a month never come up?!” Pete demanded.

“We’re long distance!” Joe screamed again.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Marie asked, popping her head out the door. Joe gave her a weak smile.

“Everything’s fine,” Joe lied weakly, giving her a thin smile. She smiled back reassuringly, and threw her arms around his neck. It was going to be a long weekend.

***

“God, it’s so hot here,” Marie noted. They were out on a walk, supposed to be catching up. Joe knew he was probably being rude, but he was mostly silent, brooding, trying to figure out how to get around shifting around her,

“Mmm,” Joe hummed in agreement.

“Because, you know, it’s snowing in New York,” she continued, sighing. “Everything is so Christmas commercialized. Rockefeller tree, all that shit.”

“Mm hmm,” Joe nodded. He only had to turn for, what, a few minutes? If she’d say yes to watching a movie with all the guys and him, he could sneak into the bathroom, turn and turn back before she noticed.

“And since the dorms in the city are so expensive, my friends and I were thinking of maybe getting an apartment,” she continued.

“That’s nice,” Joe said, uncertain of what she had said. Maybe he could even go out on a pizza run, that would give him plenty of time.

“Maybe a luxury loft, overlooking Central Park,” she teased, trying to get his attention. She kicked the side of his leg playfully, stumbling a bit. “My rockstar boyfriend could probably afford that, right?”

“Definitely,” Joe chuckled, present enough to still be sarcastic. “You know me. Rolling in the dough.” Marie gave him a sad little smile.

“Should I have told Pete to not waste the money?” she asked.

“What?” Joe asked, startled.

“You’re not really into this, are you?” she asked, gesturing around them with a shrug. “I mean, I’m trusting you’re decent enough to break up with me if there’s another girl, so are you just too busy with work?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not like that,” Joe protested. He felt guilt twisting unpleasantly in his stomach, but he didn’t know how to explain this away.

“You’re distracted by something,” she said. “And not to sound selfish or anything, but this was a bit of a long trip, I know you’re busy, but I had hoped you could break for a bit.”

Well, if nothing else, Joe liked her honesty.

“That’s fair,” Joe said. “I’m just really stressed tonight, but I swear I’ll chill out in a day or two.”

“I trust you,” she said, leaning into him. “Now, come on, show me around town!”

“I’ll try not to get lost,” Joe promised, smiling down at Marie. Good God, he was so in love. Leave it to lycanthropy to ruin something else.

***

To Joe’s surprise, his plan went without a hitch. He offered to pick up pizzas midway through The Princess Bride, and while Marie thought it odd that he would voluntarily miss some of the movie, she did not investigate. He was able to change, change back, and grab food without anyone noticing. He was shocked but pleased. He came back with a stack of  pizzas in the middle of the rodents of unusual sizes scene, and Marie curled up in his lap. Joe was tired, still sore from the shift, but he felt warm and safe when he was close to her. Like things would be alright.

Of course, it had to be too good to be true.

The five of them finished the movie. Marie got along amazingly with the whole band, arguing politics with Andy and talking shitty 80’s movies with Pete and Patrick. She wasn’t exactly one of the guys, but they all wanted her around. They all stayed up talking until early in the morning, when Joe half carried her to the bedroom.

“You seem happier already,” she murmured sleepily.

“You make me happy,” he breathed out against her neck.

“It’s not that,” she said, her eyes fluttering closed. “Tell me someday?”

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

A few hours later, however, Joe awoke to the sound of a heavy, rhythmic banging on the door. Marie stirred next to him, and upon waking, clutched the covers up to her neck in a panic.

“Is this normal?” Marie asked as the insistent banging on the door got louder.

“Nope,” Joe groaned, falling out of bed and pulling on the nearest pair of shorts he could find. The banging continued with shouting accompanying it as he hurried to get dressed.

“WHORES AND INFIDELS, SODOMISTS AND WITCHES, ALL OF YOU WILL BURN!” shrieks came from outside.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Marie asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Joe assured her, leaving the bedroom and swinging open the front door.

A short, wiry haired old woman stood on the stoop, her finger trembling as she pointed at Joe.

“The creature I sent,” she hissed, “was a message sent from God! And you treat it as a common house pet!”

“What?” Joe asked, his voice thick and his eyes bleary.

“The fuck you mean he was a message sent from God?” Andy said from behind Joe. Joe turned and, to his horror, saw the slug creature he had vomited up in a mason jar with holes poked in the lid.

“LARVAE ARE NOT PETS!” the woman shrieked. “And you, you sinners, you demon-! You must pay,” she hissed. She pulled a long, thin knife out from the folds of her skirt, and took a step closer to Joe.

Andy lunged forward to attack her, but the old woman moved very quickly, whipping out a squirt bottle and spraying him in the face with something. Andy screamed and fell to the floor, steam rising from his face.

“What did you do to him?” Joe asked in terror.

“Holy Water works wonders on demons. As does silver!” she made to stab him again, and Joe lurched away just in time, his instinct kicking in as he shifted mid jump. She gasped in horror, almost dropping her knife, and Joe jumped on top of her, pinning her to the ground and snarling in her face. Though he weighed distinctly less as a wolf than he did as a person, he was still more than strong enough to hold her down. He howled, hoping to wake Pete or Patrick and get one of them to come out and help him.

The woman struggled underneath him, whispering breathless Hail Mary’s as he held her down. He was vaguely aware of her crying, but he was so angry. She was the reason for his pregnancy, pain, and humiliation? The reason Andy was in pain? There was no reason to show her mercy, and the wolf side of him urged him to tear her throat out with his heavy claws while he could.

Before he could act on such an urge, he felt Patrick behind him, heard Patrick’s voice in his ear telling him to move aside, he and Pete had the situation under control, and he reluctantly stepped to the side. He shifted back behind the couch and tied a blanket around his shoulders, toga style, while he watched in righteous vindication as Pete and Patrick tied the old woman to a chair.

Joe’s wide smile lit up the room until he looked to the bedroom door and saw Marie standing in the doorway, blanket still clutched up to her neck, and a horrified look on her face as she stared at him.

***

“So how did you sick the larvae on him?” Pete asked. He was staring directly into the woman’s face, and both of their eyes were glowing gold under Pete’s demand of “ _Tell the truth_.”

“The power of prayer,” she replied.

“Prayer to what?” Patrick muttered under his breath. The woman didn’t hear him, or only answered to Pete: Joe couldn’t tell which. He was sulking in the back next to Andy, who was icing his face. It was red from the burn of Holy Water, but not scalded off, as it would have been if he were fully vampiric.

Marie had slammed the bedroom door shut, and while Joe wanted to immediately talk to her, Pete convinced him that perhaps they both needed some time to cool off.

“What was your intention in coming here tonight?” Pete asked. Joe could still hear the resonating charmspeak in his voice, but Pete also sounded weary. Too much use of his power was taking a toll on the poor guy.

“To kill you demons!” the woman choked out, sounding as though she was crying again.

“ _You should forget about us_ ,” Pete declared, lounging back in his chair. The gold was fading fast. “ _Move to another town. A safer town. Go to a nice church and forget about us, okay? We’re not doing any harm_.”

“Not doing any harm?” she repeated.

“ _No harm_ ,” Pete said. “ _Just help_.”

“I think… I should leave you be.” she declared, and Patrick cut the ropes around her wrists and ankles. She stood up and walked out of the door solemnly, and Pete sank into the chair, weariness emanating from him.

“You okay?” Patrick asked.

“Crazy bitch is as stubborn as you,” Pete laughed weakly. Patrick rubbed his shoulders, and Joe turned on Andy. The sun was rising in the distance, and Andy looked tired and small, but Joe was furious at the entire world, and Andy was at least one person in it.

“You kept that thing?” he spat. Andy winced.

“He didn’t hurt anyone,” Andy said, holding his hands up.

“ _It_ hurt _me_ ,” Joe yelled.

“Not intentionally!” Andy protested. “It’s kind of sweet, actually. More fuzzy than slimy now.” Joe growled.

“Fine, it’s yours,” he said, pouring venom into his voice. “I’m gonna go to bed.” An even more miserable thought.

“Good luck,” Andy said with a small smile that Joe didn’t return. He opened the bedroom door to find Marie still up, sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed. Her night shirt rode up to nearly her waist, and she looked very small in that moment.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Joe said, giving her a tiny wave.

“We should talk,” she said, patting the bed next to her. Joe sat down, still just wearing a blanket. His clothes were intact, but he had never bothered to put them back on, something he felt strangely self conscious about now. She’d seen him in less before.

“So… are you cool with the term ‘werewolf’?” she asked.

“That’s what I’ve been using, yeah,” Joe said stiffly.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “That’s… different.”

“Uh huh,” Joe said, staring at the covers.

“Is this just on full moons, or is it whenever you feel like it?” she asked.

“Both,” he said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It’s weird,” she said, and Joe braced himself. “But kind of cool.” He looked up hopefully.

“Cool enough to not break up with me?” he asked. She scoffed.

“I’m not gonna break up with you over something silly like a difference in species!” she laughed. Teasing him. But her voice grew softer as she grabbed the sides of his face. “I love you, silly. Whatever you are.”

Joe ended up sleeping more soundly than he could ever recall that day, temporarily content with his furry problem.

 


	2. Demon Daze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick is cursed to a horrible plague. He and his friends have some disagreements on what exactly the plague is.

              “Ah, yes, the dream team,” the woman sneered. “I wondered when I would be seeing you.”

“You’ve heard of us!” Pete said, delight plain on his face. He elbowed Joe in the stomach, and Joe scowled. “She’s heard of us!”

“It is not a compliment, fae!” she snarled. She raised a gnarled stick with beautiful stones woven into the wood. The woman began chanting under her breath, words in a strange and musical language flying from her mouth. The four of them stood still, entranced for a moment, when a burst of energy flew from the crystal and blew them all back.

Predictably, everyone but Andy landed on their asses, but Patrick was pleased to see that Joe was blown to another room, which Patrick thought meant that he must not be doing the worst today.

              Andy ran forward and tried to tackle the woman, but she let out an ungodly screech, hurling him into the wall with more force than Patrick would have expected of the waifish looking girl, who couldn’t be more than eighteen.

              Pete ran forward to try and grab the wand from her, but he was going about it too directly. Patrick ducked around behind her while she waved her wand at Pete. Patrick jumped her from behind, throwing his arms around her neck and yanking the wand out of her hand.

              The woman screamed again and threw Patrick off her back, and before she could turn around, he snapped the thin wood over his knees, feeling a jolt of electricity rush up through his fingers and hands and arms, all the way into his chest. He shivered, then dropped the wooden splinters to the ground.

              “You bastard!” she cried, stomping over towards Patrick. “You destroyed my wand!”

              “Yeah, I did!” Patrick’s face broke out into a smile.

“Therefore I curse you to a dread disease!” she screeched, pointing her perfectly manicured finger at Patrick. Patrick jerked his head back in almost pleasant surprise.

              “Me?” he said, though he didn’t sound frightened.

              “You!” she screeched, but then a wolf (Joe, or if not, random wolves just really liked Patrick) rounded the corner and pounced on her, pinning the woman to the ground.

              The woman howled and wailed, but no amount of her screaming could stop the band from tying her up, confiscating her magic items, and giving her a very stern talking to, before untying her and leaving her alone in her apartment. All in all, Patrick thought it was a pretty successful day, until Joe slammed him up into a wall.

              “Aw, man, what now?” Joe moaned.

              “We… get… pizza?” Patrick said, his eyes darting around to the worried looks on the other guy’s faces. They all had downturned eyebrows and mournful sets in their lips.

              “You got cursed!” Joe said. Patrick snorted.

              “Yeah, to ‘a dread disease’,” he laughed, holding up finger quotes around the words. “What, am I gonna get a cold?”

              “Will this be so funny when you’re dying of leprosy?” Pete asked, his words coming out in a tight hiss of air. Patrick laughed nervously, and held his arms out for a subtle inspection.

              “No signs of leprosy yet?” he said.

              “We have to find a countercurse,” Andy said.

              “I’m not even sick!” Patrick yelled, but the others had already starting walking home.

              The rest of Patrick’s band continued, quite adamantly, that he was cursed, soon to be sick, soon to be on his deathbed, at that. Mostly it was just annoying for Patrick, as they frantically researched demonic diseases he was left alone to try and puzzle Pete’s lyrics into something that could resemble a song on his own.

              Days passed by. Patrick kept working on music and occasionally helping the others to dispose of the witch’s magical items. Andy felt almost compelled to take some of them back, but Pete reminded him that the woman had been hunting down pixies to make revenge potions that she was selling to the vampire mob in Boston, and do you really want to perpetuate that kind of gang violence?

              Though the work was interesting, because some magical items had some really specific requirements for destruction, Patrick backed out of it often, because the other three kept looking at him like they needed to pick out flowers for his funeral, which was more than a little annoying.

              Nearly a week later, Patrick got a nasty cough, and knocked on Pete’s door when it got too bad for him to stay asleep.

              “Can you go pick up some cough syrup or something?” Patrick asked, red eyed and miserable, and Pete jumped up, terror in his eyes.

              “It’s begun!” he cried dramatically, and grabbed Joe and Andy and began to strategize.

              “Ahem!” Patrick said, leaning on the doorframe while the three of them bent their heads together. “Do we have cough drops or what?”

              “We’ll get you something in a minute, this could be serious,” Joe said, and they began talking again.

              Patrick sighed, and without changing out of his pajamas, he grabbed his wallet and started walking to the nearest 7-Eleven.

              When Patrick woke again, much later in the day by the look of the sun, he was still tired, maybe more tired, and definitely much more sick. His cough was deeper, and he was starting to hack up phlegm. His chest hurt, he felt queasy, and he was shivering, even though he felt unbelievably hot.

              He stumbled out into the living room where the rest of his band was curled over one of the witch's old handwritten and leather bound books.

              “Pete?” he said, leaning on the wall and trying to catch his breath. He must have looked nearly as bad as he felt, judging by the mournful look on his best friend’s face.

              “Rick,” Pete said, standing up, and Patrick hacked up phlegm into his hand, groaning when he saw it.

              “Can you take me to convenient care?” he asked. His voice sounded like hell, and standing up was making him feel nauseous.

              “It says here that coughing pus could be a sign of ‘The Horned God’s Curse’,” Andy said, and looked up at Patrick over his glasses. “Have you found any blood in anything you’ve coughed up?”

              “No!” Patrick said, and turned back to Pete. “Can you drive me to a doctor?”

              “Don’t worry, Rick,” Pete said, patting him gently on the back, nearly knocking Patrick over. “We’re going to find a cure for this.”

              “Just take me to a doctor!” Patrick pleaded.

              “Lie down, okay?” Pete pleaded. “We’re working as fast as we can.”

              And, because Patrick was too tired to stay standing, he gave up and went back to his room, chugged more cough syrup, and laid back down, too tired to do anything else.

              The next time Patrick woke up, it was pitch black and he was dying of heat. He tried to shove the heavy blankets off of him, but they were crushing his ribcage, too hot and too heavy and he couldn’t breathe. His chest was too tight, his arms too weak.

              “Pete!” he croaked, though he could barely hear himself croak the word out. “Pete!” he tried a little louder, sounding even more like a creaky dorm frame, but maybe loud enough to notice outside his room, if you were paying really close attention.

              Still, there was no answer, and Patrick’s lungs were very unhappy with him, so he reached out to his bedside table and shoved it over, wincing at the loud crash that stung his ears.

              “What was that?” he heard Pete say from the living room.

              “Pete!” this croak was definitely loud enough to hear, Patrick was sure of it, and sure enough, Pete ran into his room a minute later, flipping on the switch.

              “Oh, Christ,” Pete ran over to Patrick’s side, putting a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up!”

              “I know!” Patrick moaned, coughing pitifully again. “Take the blankets off, please, they’re too heavy!”

              Pete complied instantly, pulling the covers back and smoothing down Patrick’s hair, already slick with sweat.  

              “Jesus, this is bad,” Pete said.

              “No shit,” Patrick groaned, before hacking out a wet cough, his whole body shaking from the strain.

              “Listen, we’ve found a couple probable curses, now all we have to work on is the counter curse,” Pete promised, and Patrick let out a noise half sob half cough.

              “Pete!” he coughed. “Just take me to a doctor!”

              “You’re gonna be fine, okay?” Pete promised.

              “I don’t need a counter curse, I need-” but whatever Patrick needed was cut off by a heavy, painful coughing fit.

              “Don’t worry, we’ve got it,” Pete said, and left the room, without even turning out the light or closing the door.

              Fucking Pete.

              Patrick slept on and off the next day, but started to do bad again at night. The covers were still too heavy for him to lift, but he kept them all on one side of the bed so he could shimmy in and out of them depending on whether he was hot or cold. The next morning, he tried one last time.

              “Guys,” Patrick’s throat sounded like he’d been chain smoking for years, and the effort to drag himself into the living room was debilitating. “Please take me to the ER.”

              “Not now, man, we’ve almost got it!” Joe said, staring at a thickly bubbling cauldron with the rest of them.

              “Pete?” Patrick tried.

              “Don’t worry, man, we’ve got this!” Pete said, looking briefly up at Patrick and wincing when he saw him.

              Patrick sighed, and when their attention was fixated on the cauldron again, stumbled out of the apartment and called a cab.

 

              “We’ve got it!” Pete yelled, raising a thick glass vial with an acid green liquid swirling inside it above his head.

              The three of them ran into Patrick’s bedroom to find it- empty.

              “Holy shit,” Joe said. “Did he disintegrate? Did the disease disintegrate him first?”

              “No way!” Pete said. “That’s not possible- oh god, what if the witch came back for him as revenge?!”

              “You don’t think-” Andy began, only to be interrupted by a cough from behind them.

              “You didn’t notice I left, did you?” Patrick asked, staring at them with derision clear on his face.

              “No,” Pete spoke before anyone could lie for him.

              “Okay, get out of my way, I need to lie down again,” Patrick sighed, walking past his band and lying down on the bed.

              “First,” he said, “I have **_pneumonia_** , fuckers. Second, you’re all horrible people, and third, I coughed on your toothbrushes.”

              None of them really had a response to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry for the peterick, and thanks for reading! New chapter by tomorrow, hope you guys are excited! <3


	3. The Ribbon on my Wrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone on the blog requested I go more in depth on Pete's mental illness and how it affects/is affected by his fae powers. In which Pete is trying his best, but sometimes he says things he doesn't mean to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as this is a chapter focused on mental health, I feel like it's important to mention that this could potentially be quite triggering, with discussions of depression, bipolar, suicide, and it's generally written from a point of view of someone not in a great mental place. 
> 
> As someone who does not personally live with bipolar disorder, please do not hesitate to message me or leave a comment telling me to fix something in this chapter or take it down if my representation feels inaccurate.

              It would be easier to handle, this crazy, if Pete could control the ups and downs.

              His family and friends told him not to call himself crazy, the big scary c-word, but that was what it was. And Pete had already decided that until they were the ones lying awake all night, staring at the ceiling, too tired to jump off the hotel roof and too desperate for death to fall asleep, they had no say in what he called himself.

              Also, no one seemed to understand that his crazy, this big enormous c-word, b-word, scribbled diagnosis wasn’t exactly stable. There were days when he was better than normal. Faster, a more efficient worker, able to multi-task like no one else, finding ways to focus on a thousand things at once and be way better than anyone normal could be. Those days, those weeks, they always sucked, because once people saw it, they decided that Pete at his best was the norm. No one seemed to care about the toll that performing at 150% took on a person, heart hammering through his chest, sweat gluing together the pages of a perfect, twenty-page essay.

              All the people that told Pete not to call himself crazy were the same people that couldn’t or wouldn’t understand that he had no control of this thing. That if he could, he would schedule a month off from everything and jam all of the bad into that one month and spread all of his energy out evenly over the other eleven months and function like a just barely better than average human being most of the time. That wasn’t an option.

              Nobody asks to be unable to drag himself out of bed for a single final exam, giving him a C+ in even the classes he had 100% in up until then. He wasn’t trying to be lazy, to waste his dad’s money, and if he had the strength to move his muscles, god, he would have.

              It reached its mounting point in college, but he kept dragging himself through it, because of course, he couldn’t waste a scholarship like that, too much waste, he had to keep going, had to keep going.

              Once Pete switched to focusing on Fall Out Boy full time, he got a bit better, but it wasn’t as though there was any sort of magic cure all he could find that didn’t tranq him into oblivion. He knew his friends tried to be understanding, and they got better at it, with time. A learning experience for all four of them, eventually they figured out the little things that would help him. When to back off, when to push, what junk food they could coax into him to make sure he was eating something, at least, even if it wasn’t ridiculously healthy. Pete’s mom had been so worried about him living on his own, but he did well. He hated the band monitoring him slightly less than his parents.

              But things getting worse, getting bad, getting all kinds of psychobabble words he was told not to say aloud on tour was unthinkable, trapped in a tiny van with no temperature control next to too many other people with no space to breathe - that was the worst kind of nightmare.

              Pete could feel himself getting edgier as the miles ticked by, the walls of the van caving in on his head, way too oppressive, and his band was probably trying their best, but they kept leaving him alone and he felt so isolated. And then, worse, they would try talking to him, try to make this better. Christ. All of their voices were fork tongs scraping a plate. Babies crying on airplanes. Making him wish he could drive a safety pin into his eardrums. Their voices made him want to crawl out of his fucking skin until they stopped, and then once they went silent, the silence started suffocating Pete, drowning him. There was no winning.

              Eventually, Patrick and Andy took the hint - give up, let Pete pretend it’s okay and cry himself out when we aren’t looking, yes, that was the best option. But Joe was too thick or too kind or still thought Pete was sane and could be reasoned with, and he wouldn’t shut up. His usually endearing lisp made Pete want to rip his vocal chords to shreds underneath his fingernails.

              “I think I brought my portable DVD player, we could probably watch Zoolander if you wanted?” Jesus Christ, did Joe always fucking sound like that. Pete’s eye twitched. He gave his head a small shake, and pointedly closed his eyes.

              It would only be too simple if Joe would take a fucking hint.

              “I think we probably have enough money to order pizza tonight, too. Anyway, do you think it would help if I just talk? I could probably just start giving you the synopsis of Star Wars with commentary from yours truly, and I mean, when isn’t that-”

              “Shut up,” Pete said. He felt like he was cracked, cracking all over in spider-webbing fractures, and his brains and body heat were leaking out all over the van.

              “Oh,” Joe sounded hurt, but Pete still didn’t open his eyes. “Sorry. I just figured-”

              “Just shut up and leave me alone!” Pete hissed. Taut strings in his chest were either snapping or loosening, all out of tune.

              “I was just trying to help-” Joe began.

              “You could help more by fucking off,” Pete muttered under his breath, and he heard the sharp intake of air that meant he had upset Joe. Christ. What now?

              “Look, I get that you’re upset, but you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

              “No! You don’t get it,” Pete sat up, glaring at Joe without really seeing anything. His vision had gone hazy. “You don’t know what this feels like, so don’t you- just don’t,” he had a hard time getting the words out, and he wanted to scream, but didn’t want anyone to know something was wrong. Like that ship hadn’t already long since sailed.

              “I just wanted to help,” Joe said. Pete’s eyes were open, but he couldn’t see Joe, not really.

              “You wanna help? Go jump off a bridge,” Pete scoffed, all of his emotions leaking out of the cracks in his chest.

              Joe didn’t respond, but Pete closed his eyes again, heard the van door open and shut, and he leaned back, feeling tears already springing to his eyes as the silence swallowed his head whole again.

              Pete lay there wallowing for a few moments before the door slid open again to Patrick announcing “We’re back!”

              Pete sat up, feeling a little better and hoping his eyes weren’t red, with a puzzled look on his face.

              “So soon?” he asked. His throat was raw as hell, but it could be worse.

              “Pete, it’s been hours,” Patrick said, not laughing, but looking a little amused. “Where’s Joe?”

              “He left,” Pete said, “We were fighting, it was stu-” he cut off mid-sentence, swaying slightly where he sat. No. Nonono. Pete’s vision went black temporarily, and he fell into the side of the van, barely aware of Patrick and Andy yelling in fear.

              Joe. _Jump off a bridge._ Oh God no.

              “Pete, what’s wrong?” Andy was asking, right in front of his face. So much for not crying in front of them.

              “Joe,” Pete whimpered, “Oh god, hours? Are you sure?”

              “Yes! Pete, what’s wrong?” Patrick demanded.

              “I was just- I was just mad!” Pete was blubbering, his voice warbling so that he was sure they couldn’t understand him. “I was pissed off and crazy and I didn’t mean it oh my god I didn’t mean it I didn’t mean it!” he was half screaming, still unintelligible.

              “What didn’t you mean?” Andy pleaded, his hands on Pete’s shoulders, trying to hold Pete at least slightly together. At least someone was still trying.

              “He wouldn’t shut up!” Pete begged, vision blurry from tears. “And I didn’t think my voice was- but if felt different! It must have been charm speak, and I t-told him he could help by-” Pete was trying to breathe in, the air rattling and wet and kicking back mucus, “by jumping off a br- a bri-” he couldn’t finish.

              Andy and Patrick seemed to understand, though. They sat up, looking at each other, holding Pete a job long since abandoned, leaving him sobbing on the floor.

              “Overpass, not too far back,” Andy said, his voice desperate, pleading, not a question. Patrick shook his head, his jaw set forward.

              “Joe’s got super endurance, and it wasn’t that high. He’s a strong swimmer, and if we start driving now, we might beat him there anyway,” Patrick said, jumping into the driver’s seat.

              “It’s been hours!” Andy whispered. Like Pete couldn’t hear everything. Like he wasn’t there, gross sobbing and smearing snot all over their laundry.

              “Since we left, but maybe not since they fought,” Patrick said, his voice shaking slightly as he gunned the van to life. Joe’s van. Jesus fuck, was Pete supposed to return it to his mom?

              The van sped down the road, while Pete clutched desperately at all the clothes his fingers could grab around so that he didn’t rip off his own skin.

              When they screeched to a halt, Pete crawled out of the van, staring over the edge of the overpass with Andy and Patrick, he choked out another sob, trying to bite back as much as he could.

              It was a sheer hundred-foot drop, Pete guessed, into turbulent water that didn’t look particularly deep or warm. The water churned, gray brown over sharp slabs of jagged concrete waste.

              “He could still,” Patrick’s voice was wavering, but it was a hell of a lot better than if Pete tried to speak, “I- I mean, people go cliff diving, right?”

              No one responded. They had waited for an hour, staring at the water, dead silent, Pete’s chest shaking, suffering from an earthquake. He kept thinking someone would break the silence, but nothing did.

              At long last, Pete heard the shrill ring of his cell phone, still somehow clinging inside the pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out numbly, flipping it open, and answering with the scratchiest “Hello” he could ever remember saying.

              “Where the hell are you fuckfaces! Did you drive off without me?” Joe swore, and Pete’s heart ripped through the sound barrier.

              “You’re okay?” he whispered, clinging to the phone desperately. Patrick and Andy’s heads shot towards Pete, and Joe snorted on the other line.

              “Duh. Kinda wet, but it’s whatever. I like this better than Patrick pissing on my stuff, personally.”

              “You’re alive,” Pete laughed. He felt like he could fly.

              They drove back to the gas station where they had been parked, and explained where they had been. Joe actually laughed at the misconception.

              “You didn’t specify what bridge in the charmspeak,” he said, flashing Pete a smile that was half cocky, half reassuring. “I remembered there being a little one over a smaller river in this town, from the last time we came through here, but it was a little bit of a hike. Fucking freezing, but hey, little water never hurt anyone,” he was smiling widely, mostly for Pete’s sake. Pete was still, admittedly, a little tearful.

              “And you’re okay?” he asked again, and Joe nodded.

              “I’m fine. Are you?”

              “Better, I think?” Pete laughed a watery laugh. “That’s weird, huh? But I don’t know, sometimes a shock to the system helps.”

              “Well, you can’t try and murder me every time you get down, but I did say I wanted to help,” Joe said with a smirk.

              Pete hugged him way too hard, and for way too long after Joe told him it hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! PS, to the person that sent me the message about the Joe drabble, I am working on it. 
> 
> Thank you always for reading! <3


	4. A Tail of Two Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an anon who suggested this drabble, Joe and the boys have an unfortunate run-in with a witch that leaves Joe feeling a little less than human afterwards.

Honestly, it really wasn’t funny.

Everyone in Joe’s band disagreed, but it REALLY wasn’t funny.

“Y-you-!” Patrick could hardly breathe for laughter, rolling, actually rolling around on the floor while he howled. “You have a TAIL!”

Joe growled. He was in human form, but due to an unfortunate incident with a nearby coven, a long, bushy gray tail had tucked itself between his legs, occasionally swishing back and forth nervously.

“It isn’t funny,” he growled, but all of them were still laughing, even Andy, the traitor.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Andy looked truly apologetic, even if he was still smiling. “Um, having you tried turning into a wolf and back again. 

“That was the first thing I tried,” Joe said, “And then THIS happened,” he moaned, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Thick, two inch long fur covered his forearms from elbow to wrist, and Andy bit his lips to keep from laughing more. This was a serious situation, dammit. 

“Well, it’s good that it’s cold out tonight, at least no one will think it’s strange that you’re wearing long sleeves,” Andy said bracingly. Joe howled.

“We’re playing on fucking television!” Joe half screamed. “What if someone sees my tail?!”

“Well, keep it in your pants!” Pete said, bursting into laughter as soon as he finished the sentence. Joe growled at Pete.

“It’s going to show!” Joe groaned. It’ll look like I shoved a third leg into my pants.

“It’s really not that bad!” Patrick said. “I mean, it’s funny, but it’s pretty thin.” 

Joe’s tail swished back and forth in annoyance.

“I look like a furry!” he moaned, covering his face with his hands.

“You do not look like a furry,” Patrick said, his face still red with laughter. “Because-” he hiccupped “-because the-the furries have the ears too!”

“Give me one good reason not to kill him,” Joe demanded.

“We’re playing on TV tonight,” Andy said.

“I said a good reason,” Joe muttered. His tail twitched in anger.

Prep for their performance that night was a lot more detailed than usual. Joe wasn’t sure what the name of the network they were performing on was, but there were a lot of makeup artists backstage, caking him with more makeup than he thought was entirely reasonable, but they assured him it would look natural under the heavy lights. The woman working on Joe gasped when she saw the length of his forearm hair, but just shrugged and moved on. No one in Hollywood ever blinked at supernatural stuff, whether they knew about it or not.

Pete pulled the whole band aside before they went out to meet up with The All American Rejects to give them a big speech about being responsible, and not mentioning any of the supernatural stuff to the other band (as if he hadn’t given the same speech at all the practice sessions.)

To Joe’s immense relief, the performance went off without a hitch. No one seemed to notice the tail stuffed down his right pants leg, and he was gone as soon as they got off stage.

Joe went to interrogate the witch the next day, his band in tow, Patrick still laughing, but the girl who placed the curse just smiled at him. 

“I can’t take the curse off, it just has to fade over time,” she said smugly. Joe turned to Pete in disbelief, and Pete nodded dismally.

“And how long should that take?” Joe asked through gritted teeth.

“Just two weeks,” she said with a sickly smile.

“The full moon is next week,” Patrick whispered, as though Joe wasn’t painfully aware when the next full moon was.

“You ever try to pull this again, you’ll regret it,” Joe said, all up in the girl’s face. At least they didn’t have any shows coming up.

The best news of all was that Joe could easily avoid his band for a week after he turned again and his ears elongated, pointed, and furry. Whatever Marie said about his wolf ears was surely nothing compared to what he would get from his band if they ever heard about this instance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one inspired by an anonymous messenger on tumblr, and I hope you like it! If you have any drabble ideas, feel free to write your own or send your thoughts to me at thehigh-waytohell.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	5. I Don't Blame You for Being You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band decides to film a music video about vampires, and they have fun pretending to be humans pretending to be hunters. The crew doesn't get why they're always laughing.

              “No, I’m sorry, I just don’t see it,” Alan Ferguson, their director, said with a shrug. “I think Pete would make a better vampire. He’s got the hair; you know? And come on, a vampire with glasses? Get real.”

              “Yeah, Andy,” Pete said, grinning a way too wide, shit-eating grin at Andy. “You look _nothing_ like a real vampire.”

              “ _You’re lucky your blood is poison_ ,” Andy mouthed at Pete, but truth be told, he was giggling a little too.

              “I mean, this whole treatment is a little weird,” Alan said, looking over the email from the band he had printed out. “I just don’t see a group of vampires going by-” he squinted at the paper “- ‘The Chicago Blood Bats’? It sounds like a gothic little league baseball team.”

              “What about the Dandies?” Joe asked, pointing a little further down on the paper. “British invasion vamps. Fight in formation. Super scary.”

              “Maybe,” Alan said, pursing his lips. “Also, I don’t think we have the special effects budget to make it look like we burnt a hotel down. What if we do it, you know, more of like, a gang war?”

              “That’d be cool,” Andy said.

              “Yeah?” Alan was starting to look really excited. “Alright, cool! So, if Pete’s the vampire, we’ll give him all kinds of cool vampire powers, like flying around and stuff. And then the rest of you can be the human hunters, except you’re not as good at fighting as Pete is-”

              Alan’s speech was cut off by a huge, barking laugh from Joe, who promptly covered his mouth and coughed.

              “Sorry, sorry, go on,” Joe said, still grinning.

              “Um, anyway,” Alan looked a little confused, but soon got back into his groove, “Yeah, Pete’ll probably get the most fun stunts, but I promise the rest of you will get to do cool stuff too.”

              “This ought to be fun,” Patrick said, smirking slightly.

***

              “Let me get this straight,” Bill said, on the phone with Pete. “You want me to play a male version of the evil vampire from Boston that I murdered via decapitation last year?”

              “That’s about right,” Pete said. He was still upset that he had missed nearly the entire battle at the Drake, but it sounded amazing.

              “The leader of the Dandies?”

              “The very same.”

              “Yeah, but aren’t the Dandies, you know, still out there?”

              “Well, yeah…” Pete trailed off.

              “So you want to purposefully piss off the most powerful vampire gang in North America and possibly the world?”

              Pete was silent for a beat, hoping he knew Bill as well as he thought he did.

              “Yeah, sure, it sounds fun!”

***

              “Okay, so how should I-” Brendon opened his mouth wide and tried to make a hissing noise that ended up in him retching on the sidewalk.

              “Yeah, um, vampires aren’t jungle cats,” Andy said, feeling a little bit miffed. “You don’t hiss. Think of it more like a human fight, and just bare your teeth. The whole point of vampires is that they’re silent, you know?”

              “Brendon!” Alan called. “Nice job! Keep doing that, it feels very primal, totally fits!”

              “I swear on all that is holy, I’m gonna tell him the truth if I hear much more of this bullshit,” Andy muttered, and Brendon laughed at him.

              Across the street, Alan began fighting a whole different battle with Patrick.

              “Your face doesn’t look pained enough when you get bitten!” he was saying to Patrick. “It’s like, somewhere between the worst pain you can think of and an orgasm, not a teeth gritted kind of pain.”

              Patrick threw Andy a long suffering look, but Andy bit back a laugh.

              “Listen to the man, Patrick,” Pete said. “Unless you think you know better what a vampire bite feels like.”

              “Well, that would be almost as ridiculous as Andy being a vampire,” Patrick said in a huff, and under his breath, so Andy doubted the director could hear him, added “Or you being good at hand to hand combat.” Andy laughed aloud at that, and ignored Pete’s pleas to tell him what Patrick had said.

***

              “What kind of blend could you make to keep a vampire’s thirst satiated?” Alan asked. And Jesus, Andy really wanted to tell him, but Pete’s imagination turned their story into something even less realistic, somehow. A garlic, holy water, nail polish smoothie, somehow managing to prevent thirst? Andy would have about as much luck by drinking straight bleach, but the production team went wild over it.

              “And, to make sure it works,” Pete’s eyes flickered to Patrick for just a second, “A drop of blood from one of the hunters.”

              “Like placebo blood!” Alan cried, and Pete nodded.

              “Exactly like placebo blood,” Andy said.

***

              “Okay, I can’t stand you moping,” Pete said one day. Patrick looked up from his laptop, and okay, Pete couldn’t fault the director for thinking Patrick looked like the tech guy in their group, with the ever present technology and glasses and general stature. Telling him Pete was the research nerd and Andy was the action hero would sound mental.

              “Am I moping?” Patrick asked. He already knew the answer, but he was trying really hard not to be a downer.

              “You’re moping, and I don’t blame you, because the harnesses are really cool. Not as cool as you think they are, but really fucking cool. And I may or may not have _convinced_ the rest of the crew to leave us alone with all the equipment still out for an hour or so.”

              Yeah, it was totally worth it to see Patrick’s eyes light up like a little kid’s with enthusiasm.

              “You shouldn’t charmspeak the crew,” Patrick grumbled, but Pete could see right through it. He was glowing his bright, happy yellow, and instantly jumped to his feet, not even bothering to properly shut the computer down.

              Pete helped Patrick step his way into the harness, and tightened it as best he could remember. The whole place was covered in matts, he figured, so worst case scenario Patrick would be badly bruised and pissier than usual. Once he was set up, with his glasses sitting on top of his computer, Pete ran over to the rigging.

              “Ready?” he called.

              “Yeah, I’m ready,” Patrick said, sounding too excited to be nervous.

              “Jump when I pull, because I can’t pull you up with brute strength alone,” Pete said, and Patrick nodded.

              Pete tugged and Patrick jumped, an excited gasp burst out of him as Pete pulled hard and Patrick shot towards the ceiling.

              “Oh my god!” Patrick gasped, jumping again and doing a backflip this time. “This is amazing!”

              “Like flying?” Pete said, remembering his time.

              “Nah, just like, extreme jumping,” Patrick said, his voice caught up in laughter while Pete kept obligingly pulling in synchronization with him. “Like how I imagine Andy’s average Tuesday afternoons go- graceful and powerful and fucking awesome.”

              “If it’s not flying, would you call it ‘falling with style’?” Pete asked in his best (still awful) Tom Hanks impression.

              Patrick’s only response was a shriek of laughter as Pete tugged a little harder, and he back flipped with unbelievable poise, his hat falling to the ground, forgotten.

***

              After all the work the band went through to keep themselves a secret while working real vampire hours on the set, Patrick was frustrated beyond belief by the way Alan had to find out that he was working out with real mythical creatures.

              They had planned to drive out to the desert, not far outside of the city, with the loosely formed idea that they might film some kind of unscripted training sequence there rather than the cramped warehouse that was meant to be the hunters’ headquarters. It was a good idea, even though the darkness of the desert made Patrick a little twitchy. He hadn’t forgotten the desert vampires, or Stephen. And Stephen had been one of the _nice_ ones. Patrick really hoped they could get this over with fast, because the last thing he wanted was for their director to have to come face to face with a real vampire.

              As it turned out, Patrick shouldn’t have worried about vampires. It was strange, but all the magic bullshit had made him forget that humans could be dangerous too. They didn’t even make it out of the city before the car got to a stop light, and a gun pointed into the driver’s side.

              “Nice equipment in there,” Patrick could just make out the ragged voice speaking. The whole van was dead silent, but the roaring of blood in Patrick’s ears made it hard to hear. “Bet it’d be worth a lot of money, huh?”

              Probably, they just should have let it go, but Patrick knew Andy could see Alan’s face, knew that all this equipment was outside studio budget, from Alan’s own pocket, that he was just doing all of this because he loved the art. And it wasn’t about to get stolen.

              Patrick flattened himself against the seat so that Andy and Joe could get out. Andy incapacitated the first man in record time, but when Joe turned into a wolf, it was all over. The men ran away at top speed, and it seemed everything was fine.

              “I mean, personally, I think I look fantastic for a vampire,” Andy said, flashing his too sharp canines at Alan.

              “You just.” Alan was gulping for air.

              “Maybe we shouldn’t film tonight,” Joe suggested. “You breathing steady, man? Want Pete or Patrick to drive? I’m kinda stiff after a transformation, or I would.”

              “Maybe,” Alan agreed weakly, surrendering the driver’s seat to Pete. “Do you, um, do that often?”

              “Yeah, but it’s probably good you didn’t know,” Patrick said, yawning and leaning back in his seat. “The first treatment Pete sent in was autobiographical.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the anon who suggested this! I had loads of fun writing it, and also, I'm sorry for the shameless peterick fluff. I'm trash. Happy FOB day!!! Thanks for reading <3


	6. First Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt wants to teach Carmilla her first words as a surprise for his best friend. Carmilla already has a mind of her own.

              “You gonna be out long?” Matt asked offhandedly.

              “Maybe an hour or so, I mean, you guys eat like wolves. And trust me when I saw I know how much wolves eat,” Andy added with a snort. Without waiting to see if Matt had laughed at his joke, Andy grabbed his keys and was out the door. Matt waited till he heard the growl of the car pull away, then turned back to Carmilla.

              “Okay, kid,” he said, leaning in close to her. She cooed and kicked a little, and he laughed. Andy’s kid was damn cute, but Matt was on a mission, and he would not be distracted.

              “Can you say: Fuck City?” he asked.

              “Puh!” she yelled, and clapped her hands.

              “‘Fuck’? Are you trying to say ‘fuck’?” Matt asked eagerly.

              “Puh!” she cried again, and made grabby hands up at Matt. Her eyes were so damn pleading. Matt picked her up and rocked her a bit.

              “Maybe ‘f’s are too hard to start with,” Matt mused. “What other curses are there?” He felt a little less ridiculous talking to himself with Carmilla there, cooing into his neck. Nuzzling his neck, making kissy noises- shit.

              “Shit!” Matt yelled, and grabbed one of the conspicuously red, unmarked juice boxes from the fridge, and jammed a straw into it before he handed it to Carmilla. She cried out a happy “Gah!” before sucking on the tiny straw. Matt shuddered a bit, still, it could be worse. Apparently Andy would only drink them warmed up when he was a kid.

              “What about ‘shit’?” he asked her. Carmilla grabbed Matt’s thumb and pulled on it, but made no further response.

              “Nah, the S-H sound is hard to make too, dammit!” Matt groaned. “‘Pussy’? No, too hard. ‘Cunt’ would be easy enough!” he realized delightedly, but Carmilla giggled a little, and Matt decided ‘cunt’ was a little too vulgar, even for them.

              “‘Bitch’? Nah, it’ll probably come out like ‘pitch’, and Andy’ll just try to watch baseball with you.” Carmilla made an impatient noise then, slamming her empty juice box on the table. Matt threw it away, and then made his decision.

              “No, ‘fuck’ will have to do,” he said, and sat Carmilla on his knee, going back to work. “Come on kid, say it with me: FUUUCK,” he sounded it out as slow as he could.

              “Pah-tuh,” Carmilla tried, her face screwed up in concentration. She looked unhappy after having the “juice”, and Matt hoped he could cheer her up before Andy got home.

              However, the time flew, and Matt lost track of the minutes while he sat with Carmilla, just repeating “Fuck” over and over and over again in different tones. He was so focused on his task, that he didn’t hear the door opening while he moaned “Come on, Carm, ‘fuck’, just say ‘fuck’ for me!”

              “Matt, what the fuck?” Andy yelled, plainly furious. Matt turned around in terror, Carmilla making wordless happy noises and raising her arms for her dad to come pick her up. Andy obliged, holding Carmilla against his hip while he stared at Matt, fury written into the lines of his face.

              “I- look, it was just a joke, and she’ll probably forget it!” Matt said, holding his hands up in resignation. Andy rolled his eyes.

              “I know that, but I was trying to make her first word ‘god dammit’, so get with the fucking program!” Andy said, rolling his eyes and grinning at Matt.

              “Long word,” Matt said, laughing in relief when he realized Andy wasn’t mad at him.

              “Yeah, but still, can you imagine this adorable kid saying it?” Andy asked.

              “Easily,” Matt agreed.

              Andy’s phone went off then, and Andy sighed, looking at the caller ID. He turned to look down at Carmilla, a gentle smile on his face.

              “Wanna say hi to Patrick?” he asked her, and Carmilla’s face lit up.

              “Pah-tuh!” she yelled again. Matt froze. Andy looked frozen as well. The phone was still ringing.

              “Patrick?” Andy asked her in disbelief, and she squealed in happiness.

              “PATTICK!” she yelled in agreement. Andy lifted her up and handed her to Matt while he answered the phone.

              “Hey, Patrick,” he said, his voice like acid. He hit the speakerphone button, so Matt could hear Patrick laugh a little nervously.

              “Hey, man, you okay?” Patrick asked. “I can call back later if-”

              “Carm just said her first word,” Andy said sourly.

              “Oh my god, what did she say?” Patrick gasped.

              “PATTICK!” Carmilla yelled again, squirming in Matt’s arms. “PATTICK PATTICK PATTICK!” Patrick’s line went quiet as well.

              “Hey, Carm!” he said in a weak impersonation of his excited voice. “Um, Andy, do you want me to go, or-?”

              “No,” Andy sighed, smiling resignedly at Carmilla, still cooing happily as she clung to Matt’s arm. “You should come down and visit. I think Carm misses you.”

              “Pattick!” Carmilla agreed.

              “I’d love to visit you,” Patrick said, and Matt could practically hear his dopey laugh.

              “Bat!” Carmilla laughed as she pulled at his shirt, hugging closer to Matt. Matt turned eagerly to Andy, who was shaking his head, but he looked happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the person on tumblr who requested more interaction between the Fuck City guys and Carmilla (and my sincerest apologies for only knowing Matt Mixon well enough to write him) Thanks for reading! <3


	7. Heroes and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe helps Spencer with his first transformation.

“So…” Spencer said, trying to break through the thick silence. “Um. How much is it going to hurt?”

Joe had decided that this was a terrible idea. He liked Spencer well enough, in a distant way, but even though he would call Spencer his friend, he had never had a one on one conversation with the guy, and now they were out “camping” in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the sun to sink down past the horizon, with no one else there. He had no idea how to deal with this.

“Do you… want the truth? Or do you want me to lie and try to comfort you?”

“Lie to me.”

“It’s not gonna hurt that much.” 

Spencer kind of reminded Joe of Patrick, in the surface ways. If he described both of them to his younger self, he would think they were the same person. Both pretty talented young drummers, no Andy Hurley, but who the hell was? Both human, both eager to make music, both would follow their best friends to the end of the world, even though neither wanted anything to do with magic.

Even though Spencer was younger, Joe was guiltily grateful that this hadn’t happened to Patrick. Of the two of them, Joe knew which one he could handle getting stuck with this kind of life.

But even though they sounded alike, even though neither of them should have gotten dragged into this dark, spidery underworld of magic, they were such vastly different people. Spencer was a deeper kind of quiet, not camera-shy, but camera-indifferent. What Joe had initially thought was nervousness was really just a coolness, an air of ease with everything he handled that made him a good anchor to a band as, well, insane as his.

“Does it hurt you?” Spencer asked. He paused a moment before continuing. “Anymore, that is?”

“Kind of,” Joe shrugged. “Not as bad. It happens so fast that there’s not much time for it to hurt. It gets better.”

“When was your first time?” Spencer asked. 

“Well, I was sixteen, and I had just ditched prom. I wasn’t really expecting much but I had just played a show and my girlfriend thought I just looked so good sweaty-”

“First time  _ turning _ , dickhead.”

Joe chuckled, and sighed. “I was twelve.”

“And did it hurt?”

“Worse than getting ripped limb from limb by H.H. Holmes.”

“Ryan told me about that,” Spencer said, smiling fondly. “He used to tell me all the stories of Fall Out Boy. We thought you guys were super-heroes. When you stole a boat and took Patrick and Jeanae back from the mermaids? And when you stopped a wendigo from massacring your old high school? It was all so cool to hear about. Like a fairy tale for adults. I never expected that I could be part of it.

“I’m actually kind of excited. Is that sick or something? I know it’s going to be painful and all, but I finally feel like I’m really part of the magic, you know? Ryan, he was always special. And I was always his best friend. Not that I don’t love him, you know, he’s my best friend in the world. But he was always the special one, and I was always the sidekick. That’s how it felt, anyway. He’s Ryan Ross, he can see the future, see the present, make prophecies, he’s integral to your world, this world. And then when we met Brendon, he was even worse! He’s a fricken superhero, he can control the earth! I just. It’ll hurt, sure, but not forever. And I’m not in the backseat anymore. I’m a hero too.”

Joe’s eyes were fixed on Spencer the entire time, though Spencer was focused on the ground, digging holes in the earth with the toes of his shoes.

“I’d give anything to not be part of the magic,” Joe said at length, and Spencer snorted. He looked up at Joe with piercing eyes that seemed far older than he was.

“Then you don’t remember much about being human,” Spencer said. He smiled wryly. “I mean, I’m living the goddamn dream, and so are you. You’re Batman, dude. Rich celebrity by day, superhero by night. What’s the problem?”

“With great power comes great responsibility?” Joe teased. “I dunno. Grass is always greener?”

“Maybe,” Spencer said, but he didn’t look convinced. It was getting darker out, and his face creased with worry.

“What do I do?” he asked, his voice smaller now.

“Okay, this won’t make much sense until you’re there, but just, um, steer into the skid? So to speak?” Joe said. Spencer gave him a panicked, exasperated look. “Okay, shit, um, you’re gonna feel a pull. And the more you fight against it, the more it’s gonna hurt, okay? All your bones have to break and reform, so go towards the breaking, and it’ll be over faster.”

“That sounds easier said than done,” Spencer said, his breathing getting labored. Joe winced.

“Yeah, it is. But look, just, let it happen, let it happen fast, don’t forget to breathe, and for the love of all that is holy,  _ please  _ keep your eyes closed.”

“Why do I need to keep my eyes closed?” Spencer asked. He was hyperventilating.

“Because if you see yourself growing fur, you might have a panic attack or possibly cardiac arrest,” Joe said.

“Very calming!” Spencer snarled. His hands were shaking, and the light was bleeding quickly from the sky.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Joe said through gritted teeth. Thank god Spencer wasn’t fae. Spencer took a deep breath, and suddenly froze. 

“Something feels weird,” he whispered.

“You have to let it happen,” Joe said, his voice equally quiet. Spencer met Joe’s eyes and nodded once. Then his femur snapped with an earsplitting crack, and he let out a scream that pierced the night.

Joe watched in abject horror as Spencer’s bones cracked and reformed, as his body contorted in unnatural ways, as he shrank and grew fur, and as his screams turned to howls of pain. When all that was left was his skull, Joe turned himself, and looked down so he wouldn’t half to see the skull’s elongation. He could still hear it, but he could pretend, almost, that it wasn’t as bad as he remembered.

When all went silent, he looked up, and there was a wolf curled up on the ground, almost completely swallowed in human clothes, and whimpering softly. Joe trotted over and nudged Spencer’s prone collar. The wolf jerked back and whined, but didn’t howl. The pain was over, and now it was just shock.

Joe snuffed up against Spencer, until Spencer eventually stood up on shaky new legs. Joe barked encouragingly, and Spencer stood a little straighter.

The night was long. Spencer didn’t know how to shift independently yet, so they had to wait until the moon set again for him to be ripped back into human form. But they were able to sleep through most of it, and in the morning, Spencer was still exhausted. 

Joe drove back, giving Spencer an enormous bottle of water and a box filled with protein bars to help him recover. Changing was tiring, and none more so than the first time, and Spencer accepted gratefully. A few miles outside of town, Spencer turned to Joe sleepily.

“Thanks for staying,” he mumbled.

“Anytime,” Joe said, and Spencer smiled a little.

“I’m a hero,” he said in a self-satisfied way.

“Yeah, you’re a hero,” Joe laughed.

“So are you,” Spencer muttered. “You… you were always my favorite, in the stories. The coolest superhero ever.”

He nodded off against the window, but Joe couldn’t help grinning to himself the rest of the way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading, guys! I still have a few more things planned before I start season three, but I hope you like this! Oh, also, sorry if the formatting is off. My subscription to Word is expired and I haven't gotten a new one from my school yet, so :/ hopefully I'll be back in business before the new season, but for now I hope this looks pretty okay? Anyway, let me know what you think of the chapter, and what else you want to see from season two before it's finished forever!


	8. Another Night (Pete's Dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I just wanted to post something, and I know some of you were curious about what Pete and Patrick's nightmares were during "Another Night", so here is Pete's!

_ “Huh,” Patrick, all of five feet and four inches tall and wearing a sweater vest, looked Pete up and down, clearly unimpressed. “I thought you’d be taller.” The memory grew blurry as though a fog had rolled over it as Patrick’s gaze became intense, his blue eyes piercing as his hand gripped Pete’s arm, firm and burning as though with fever. _

_ “I trust you,” he said, his voice coming out garbled.  _

_ Patrick’s mother materialized behind him, shimmering and shrouded in shadow. _

_ “Keep him safe!” she demanded, her voice resonating in Pete’s mind, loud echoes bouncing off the insides of his skull. _

_ “I will, I promise,” Pete said, but the words stuck in his mouth like tar. Patrick’s hand was still burning on his arm as the scenery changed, and instead of standing on Patrick’s front porch on a hot summer day, they were in the Drake hotel, the windows boarded shut and Patrick hyperventilating beside him. _

_ Celia’s fangs sunk deep into Pete’s neck, and Pete gasped at the pain, his hands curling up into fists at his sides. _

_ Celia pulled back quickly, covering her mouth delicately, her fingers shaking. _

_ “It- it burns!” she gasped. Something black was trickling down her chin, and Pete was crying. _

_ “I’m sorry!” he said, and Celia let out a horrific scream as she burst into flames. The heat was palpable, licking at Pete’s skin as he watched her crumble. He turned to Patrick for comfort, but to his horror, a vampire had already latched onto to patrick’s neck. Patrick’s eyes were wide and Pete’s ears were filled with the horrible slurping noises the vampire made as Patrick’s skin grew paler and paler.  _

_ A trickle of cherry red blood ran down Patrick’s neck and pooled in his collarbone. Pete watched, transfixed in horror, as Patrick’s eyes clouded over, milky. _

_ Pete tried to scream, but his throat was dry and no noise save for wisps of air escaped him. He reached out to grab Patrick’s hand, and his fingers slipped through Pete’s, cold and clammy and dead. _

_ Pete tried to scream again, but still nothing came out. He squeezed his eyes shut, just wanting to be somewhere else, anywhere else. _

_ When he opened his eyes again, he was very small, low to the ground, and was leaning up against a rough door. It must have been very late at night, but a sliver of golden light streamed out from the crack beneath the door. From the same space, he could hear the voices of his parents, too loud in argument. _

_ “Is he even really mine, then?” Pete’s father demanded in a shout, and Pete cringed backwards, stung by the words. He remembered this, but when he heard another voice, he was certain it was not a part of the memory. _

_**“NO,”** a deep, throaty voice said, so loud that it hurt, and Pete childishly clapped his hands over his ears.  **“YOU’RE MINE.”** _

_ Pete whimpered, terrified of the voice, wishing for his parents, wishing for Patrick, and suddenly Patrick was crouched in front of him, an unexpected addition to Pete’s childhood home. _

_ “Hey, come on, it’s gonna be okay,” Patrick said. He smiled, and put a hand on Pete’s shoulder, the gesture seeming at once to make Pete feel better. _

_ Yet, even as Pete began to feel better, safer again, he could see the color draining out of Patrick’s aura, bleeding into his. Patrick’s eyes were growing dimmer, giving his life force to Pete, dying for him. _

_ “It’s okay,” Patrick lied feebly. _

_ “Get  **BACK** !” Pete screamed, pushing him away.  _

_ He curled up, away from Patrick, scared to touch him. A loud, deep chuckling filled the room, and the roof of Pete’s house cracked open, starlight spilling in for a moment before the sky was blocked out by an immense, black hand, reaching inwards to grab Pete- _

“ **Wake up!** ” Joe demanded, and Pete’s eyes flew open, his chest heaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> summary says it all, I think. Sorry for the shoddy formatting, I just wanted to get this out there quick. Lemme know what you think and what else you wanna see, and thanks, as always, for reading <3


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